


Oh, It’s the Hardest Thing to Say In the World

by HaleHole (SweetFanfics)



Series: Teen Wolf - Office Verse [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Office, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Making Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 19:03:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HaleHole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If I can get him in the same room as you, do you think you can manage it from there?”</p><p>Uncertainty wars with desperate hope. Stiles chews on his bottom lip, staring down at his keyboard and the ‘m’ that’s almost been rubbed right off. If he were given another chance, can he really get Derek to listen to him? “Stiles?” Lydia asks in a softer voice.</p><p>With a defeated shrug, Stiles replies, “I got nothing to lose. I’ll try.”<br/>--<br/>Where Stiles tries to apologize again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, It’s the Hardest Thing to Say In the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rena/gifts).



> Cuz Rena suggested I write it and 4000 words, ta-dan~ This is probably filled with mistakes.  
> [Other beautiful sets of the Office Verse by Rena](http://dylanships.tumblr.com/tagged/officeau)

Someone clears their throat behind him - very loudly and very pointedly.  
  


With an entirely too hopeful look (and feeling), Stiles swivels his seat around in hopes of seeing a tall, dark haired, scowling person who has been mad at him. But it’s just Lydia, frowning down at him like he’s angered some fashion gods.  
  


"Oh, It’s you." Stiles sighs dejectedly, turning back towards his table. "What do you want Lydia?" He’s got work to do and work is what he’ll focus on instead of the constant dull pressure that is guilt working its way through his system like it’s an actual tumor.   
  


He searches for and opens a few spreadsheets before he begins to transfer the pertinent columns into a new file, waiting for the red heads demands. “You need to do something about Derek.” She says.  
  


Stiles pushes his glasses up his nose before turning to give her a questioning look. He gives her a confused shrug. What’s he supposed to do about Derek? She rolls her eyes, holding her body so stiff that Stiles worries she might crack with one wrong breath. “He’s mad at you. Apologize for whatever it is that’s making him walk around with a thunder cloud over his head. He’s making the whole floor feel his bad mood.”  
  


Torn between abject misery and deep seated anger, Stiles pointedly clicks his mouse far too hard as he replies, “You think I haven’t tried that? I’ve tried apologizing to him so many times that I’ve lost count! I even tried cornering him in the damned elevator and he acted like I wasn’t even  _there_.”  
  


That had hurt, worse than any barbed insult that Derek had thrown his way in the past few months. It had left Stiles feeling humiliated and mortified, fighting back the burning sensation creeping around his eyelids. Just the memory of it brings that feeling back. He slips one knuckle under his glasses and rubs his eye, pretending that tiredness is the cause of his action and not potential tears.  
  


Sighing, Stiles peers at the list of numbers on his screen and tiredly thinks that maybe he ought to give up. Clearly Derek’s mad at him  _and_ he’s the type to hold a grudge, something Stiles can relate all too well with. So. Yeah. There’s an option to be considered.   
  


"Focus." Lydia chides, lightly slapping his head as she leans against his table. "What’s he so mad about that he can’t stand the  _sound_ of your name?”  __  
  
  


Yowtch. Stiles can’t help but wince at that new. But it’s possible that Lydia mistakes his reaction being a result of remembering the reason for Derek’s anger. “You remember that bet we made? About who can sleep with Derek first?”  
  


He watches the curiosity in Lydia’s eyes bank and turn into mounting horror. With a loud sigh, Stiles nods and sweeps his hand. “Yeah. He found out about it. And he’s understandably pissed. Which is actually a serious understatement.”  
  


Stiles mumbles the last part to himself, recalling the utterly evil looks Derek has given him the past week  _alone_. If looks could kill then Stiles would be dead at least 15 times over, in all kinds of ways. And that’s not counting the way Derek had looked at him when Stiles had confronted him. That look  _alone_ had wished for Stiles’ death 20 times  _at least_.  
  


Lydia’s sigh makes him sigh as well, and slump a little in his seat. He’s allowed it God dammit! “I can see why he’s mad at you.” She finally says. And that is just.   
  


"No." He points a finger up at the woman, scowling at the startled look she throws his way. "There’s no way you get to say that. You’re at least partially responsible for this mess which means that it’s your responsibility to help fix it!"   
  


At least she looks semi-apologetic about her role in this. It makes Stiles feel a tiny bit better but it does nothing to assuage the guilt crawling around in his gullet.  
  


Lydia taps her nails against the table, frowning thoughtfully across the room. “He won’t stay in the same room as you?” She asks, like she wants to make sure of this information. As soon as Stiles nods, Lydia is back to frowning at Greenburg, who is busy filing away a thick stack of reports. “If I can get him in the same room as you, do you think you can manage it from there?”  
  


Uncertainty wars with desperate hope. Stiles chews on his bottom lip, staring down at his keyboard and the ‘m’ that’s almost been rubbed right off. If he  _were_ given another chance, can he really get Derek to listen to him? “Stiles?” Lydia asks in a softer voice.  
  


With a defeated shrug, Stiles replies, “I got nothing to lose. I’ll try.”  
  


With a brisk nod, Lydia pushes herself up to her feet and totters out, heels clicking. “The Finance department, 15 minutes exactly. Don’t be late.”   
  


Stiles gapes at her retreating form, brain scrambling to process this. He’s got 15 minutes. 15 damned minutes to put together a plan that’s going to help him a. convince Derek that he isn’t a grade A+ douche bag, b. completely and hopelessly in love with and, most importantly, c. so very,  _very_ sorry for hurting Derek’s feelings.  
  


"I need a miracle." He whispers with rising dread. There’s only one thing to do.  
  


Turning around in his seat, Stiles jumps to his feet and cranes his head up to check where Scott is. Ah! He’s at his desk! Stiles runs over to his best friend, slamming his hands down on the table to brace himself as much as to stop him from crashing into the furniture.  
  


Scott jumps, papers flying out of his hand as he yelps, “ _Shit!_ Stiles! What the hell dude?!”  
  


"I need your help!" Stiles begs. He quickly explains the new developments to his best friend and  _pleads_ _, “_ You gotta help me out here! How the hell do I get Derek to listen?”  
  


Even though Scott is busily gathering and rearranging the paperwork, Stiles is confident that his best friend’s attention is all on him. Or 80 percent on him, at least. “I guess you just need to show that you really mean it you know? Prove to him that he means something to you.”  
  


Stiles frowns at his friend, eyes ticking over the wall clock to check the time as he asks, “Like how? Should I get a boom box, two dozen red roses and serenade his office?”  
  


That causes Scott to pause and give him a confused look, “What?  _No_! Then again…” The way Scott’s tone goes from appalled to thoughtful makes Stiles’ ears perk up. Scott’s paused half way through tapping the papers together to stare off into the distance. “Maybe a grand gesture is  _exactly_ what you need.”  
  


A grand gesture? “What kind of grand gesture are we talking here? I’ve got like, 12 minutes.” Stiles points up at the wall clock, feeling the thread of panic slowly grow into something that’s starting to feel like a trickle. Soon it’s going to turn into a stream and then an ocean of panic that’s going to drown Stiles like the mangy dog that he is.  
  


Scott stares at the clock before shrugging uncertainly. “Serenade him?” He offers. Stiles groans and resists the urge to head desk repeatedly for the next 11 minutes.  
  


—  
  


Lesser men would run away if they had been in Stiles’ position right now. The anger in Derek’s eyes is so hot that he’s certain that they would put the fires of Mount Doom to shame. He’s a tiny bit glad that that ire isn’t directed at him right now.   
  


_'Go Lydia, go!'_  he cheers silently from his spot, watching the woman coolly tell Derek, “You’ve got 15 minutes to solve this problem or else I’m taking it up with HR. Go.” She flicks a careless hand at them. “The break room’s free. Don’t break anything either.”  
  


Stiles waits for Derek to move first, holding his breath as he hopes that Derek will listen to Lydia. He’s expecting the older man to put up a fight. To argue that no, there’s no way in hell he wants to be in the same 6 feet of Stiles. It’s more of a relief than pleasant surprise when Derek growls and walks away.  
  


The relieved sigh comes out on its own, taking part of Stiles’ tension away with it. He shoots a grateful look at Lydia as he mouths his thanks and hurries after Derek. His eyes dart around the break room. It’s just big enough for two tables, eight chairs, a tiny fridge and-   
  


"Whatever you want to say to me just get it over with." Derek’s voice snaps him out of his survey. Stiles jerks his gaze up towards the older man, feeling something close to longing swell painfully against his heart as Derek looks at him. The disdain however, turns the bitter sweet sensation into something heavier, forcing it to sink down into Stiles’ shoes.  
  


Pressing his lips together, Stiles thinks about all the things that he thought to say on his journey upstairs. He’d even made a small list of ‘Things that I can’t forget to talk about’ but Stiles can’t remember a single point now that he’s standing in front of Derek.  
  


The only thing that comes to mind and in his mouth, are three misery filled words. “I miss you.” Stiles cringes as soon as he lets them out, all too aware of how  _childish_ he sounds. He doesn’t have to look up to know that Derek is looking disdainfully at him. “I know that it’s not… not fair to see this. But I really do. I miss you a lot.”  
  


"I don’t think that you have the right for that."  
  


Derek’s curt reply makes a part of Stiles want to curl up and hide, not wanting to be hurt more even though he  _knows_ that he deserves it. But the larger part of him is a fighter. He doesn’t lie down and just accept things. So he hardens his gaze and meets Derek’s eyes head on.   
  


"I might not." Stiles agrees easily because it’s the truth and if what Scott had said right as he’d shoved Stiles into the elevator, the truth is what’s going to help him win Derek over. "But it’s the truth."  
  


Maybe he’s imagining the begrudging look in Derek’s eyes or maybe Stiles is misreading it for faint approval at showing his backbone. It gives him courage to press on. “Look. I know that what I did was…  _beyond shitty_. But I’m  _sorry_. I’m sorry for hurting you, for thinking that I could pull something like that off without you finding out and just…”   
  


Words are failing him. How can this be? If there’s one thing that Stiles’ prides himself on, it’s his ability to talk his way out of any situation. But there is the tiny fact that when it comes to the big moments, the ones that mean the most to him, when there’s big things on the line, his words run away from him and he’s left scrambling to catch up.  
  


Stiles brings a hand up to tug his beanie off, running the second hand through his already messy hair. He presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Why does this feel worse than having his wisdom teeth pulled out? It’s just  _words_!   
  


He licks his lips and searches for his emotions, how he feels and what he wants at the end of this conversation. “I get it. You’re sorry. Apology not accepted.” Derek snaps, crossing his arms as he leans against the dark counter.  
  


Now there’s anger creeping into his body, making Stiles grow tense as he glares with a small measure of resentment at Derek. “What the hell do I have to do to prove to you that I’m  _sorry_!?” He all but yells at the older man. “Just  _tell_ me what I’ve got to do and I’ll fucking do it!”  
  


It’s the condescending manner in which Derek rolls his eyes that makes Stiles snap, “I’m serious!” He holds his arms out, gesturing for Derek to bring it on. “Lay it on me! I’m dead serious about this! Just tell me what I’ve got to do and I’ll do it! You want me to woo you? Serenade you? Tell you why I went from not being able to stand you to missing you so bad that it  _hurts_ when you act like I’m not there?”  
  


It’s a combination of factors that leave him short of breath at the end - the long speech itself, nervous anticipation and the hopeful thought that maybe Derek will take him up on his offer/challenge. Stiles almost jumps out of his skin when he hears Erica yell, “ _Pick the singing!_ ”  
  


He whips around to glare at the blonde eavesdropping on their conversation, not even trying to  _hide_  as she waggles red tipped fingers at them. “I bet he’ll sing Celine Dion!” She teases from her desk, which happens to be closest to the break room.  
  


Stiles eyes the open doorway to the break room and mutters, “This is why I keep saying that these rooms need to have  _doors_.”  
  


There’s a heavy sigh from Derek that makes Stiles look up and forget about Erica. Derek looks tired,  _older_ when he peers at Stiles. “You don’t have to. I get it, okay? All I want is to be left alone. I don’t want to-“  
  


It might be his heart that breaks or maybe it’s something else, something less fragile because Stiles can’t believe that his heart could break so easily by someone else’s words.  
  


"No!" He shakes his head, stepping closer to Derek. "You  _don’t_  get it!” God. How can Stiles make Derek understand. Stiles presses his knuckles against his chapped lips, unsure of where to even start. Distress makes the next sentences come out garbled and messy but they’re heartfelt, of that Stiles is dead certain.  
  


"When we first met, I thought were just… an asshole! And all I wanted was to knock you down a couple of pegs. But then I actually started talking to you. Hanging out and just. You were so much  _more_ than I thought you were! I  _like_ you okay? You  _know_ that! You can’t  _not_ know that!”  
  


There’s a flicker of something in Derek’s eyes that tells Stiles in no uncertain words that yes, Derek has known about his feelings. He licks his lips and realizes on the next swallow just how  _dry_ his throat feels.  
  


"I like everything about you!" He blames the dry throat for the way his voice cracks at the confession. If Stiles were given a day, a whole day, to list down all the things he likes about Derek? He’d wind up asking for another 24 hours in the end.  
  


But he tries to smush as many of points as he can in the next few sentences. Stiles counts them off on his fingers. “I like the way you come in all grumpy on Friday mornings because you slept late after your dinner with Laura. I like the way you make that face whenever Isaac makes the coffee. I like how you’re ready to talk about baseball at the drop of a hat. I love how passionate you are about the Yankees and how you’ve  _actually_ spent an  _hour_  arguing on whythey’re great!”  
  


Stiles goes on, gaining more and more courage as the blush on Derek’s face darkens with every point. “I even like the way you glare at the computer like it’s totally evil but you stick through wanting to figure out what you did wrong and then fix it!”   
  


Now he’s panting. Flat out panting like he’s just run a mile or three. And Derek looks so conflicted, lips pressing together so hard that they’re just a thin line on the man’s face. “That… wasn’t a reverse reference to 10 things I hate about you right?”  
  


Gaping, there is actual gaping in progress from Stiles towards Derek. “Seriously?” The younger man asks incredulously. “You’ve seen 10 things I hate about you?” The unamused look Derek shoots his way makes Stiles’ hands shoot up defensively. “I’m sorry but you don’t strike me as the teenage rom-com type!”  
  


Derek laughs. It’s a tiny snort but it’s an amused sound and Stiles… Stiles is ready to jump to the  _moon_. He scratches the back of his neck with a tired sigh, looking down at Derek’s shoes before scrubbing the hand over his face. “Derek. I just… i don’t know what else to say here okay? I’m nuts for you.”  
  


He tries to say more, lifting his gaze up. Stiles puts all his sincerity into that one look.  _'Please believe me. Please give me another chance.'_ He asks with everything he’s got.   
  


"Oh for fucks  _sake_!” Erica snaps, “Just forgive him already, you idiot!”   
  


It’s Derek’s turn to glare at the blonde but she’s having none of it as she walks up to them, Boyd peeking over the top of his stacked folders with mild interest.  
  


Erica points one manicured finger at Derek, glaring at him as she speaks, “I get that you were mad at him but he’s pretty much poured his heart out for you right now. You’d be an  _idiot_ to pass this up because honestly? How many people love you for just the way you are you know? And that doesn’t mean  _you_ -you, I mean you-you.”   
  


The same finger is suddenly inches away from Stiles’ nose, along with a hard glare. “And you. If you hurt Derek again, I’m going to skin you alive and turn you into a pair of pumps. Got it?”  
  


"Yes ma’am!" Stiles squeaks, feeling an unholy sense of terror that he only thought Lydia was capable of pulling off.   
  


Erica shoots them both one long critical look before Boyd swoops in to their rescue. “C’mon Erica. Let the two emotionally stunted guys sort their own problems out.” He calmly says, hands on her shoulders as he gently guides her out.  
  


"Hey!" "I resent that!"  
  


Stiles catches a glimpse of white teeth just as Boyd leaves with a hooting Erica and grumbles. “I hate everyone on this floor.” He catches sight of Scott’s familiar mop of hair weaving through the tables. Stiles watches his best friend stop at Isaac’s table and talk with him before he turns to look right at him.  
  


"Did you mean that?"  
  


Stiles whips his head around so fast he pulls a muscle. “Ow! Shit!” He hisses, rubbing the sore spot. “Mean what?”  
  


The way Derek doesn’t meet his eyes, coupled with the way he’s trying to make himself look smaller makes Stiles lean in. “What you said. About why you liked me.” Stiles’ heart aches with every beat as he recognizing the vulnerability in Derek’s voice.  
  


Where he gets his courage from, Stiles doesn’t know. But he finds it in himself to take that last step forward so that their knees knock together and he can touch Derek’s arm. “I meant every word.” Stiles murmurs in a softer, private tone.   
  


His fingers stroke lines into Derek’s shirt as Stiles’ murmurs, “I’m kind of really head over heels for you, Derek.”  
  


Stiles is ready to be rejected even now as Derek refuses to look up from the floor. He sighs, lets his hand drag down until his fingers curl into the Derek’s elbow. “I don’t get it.” Derek murmurs like it’s a dirty secret no one should know. “Why would you when I’ve been nothing but mean to you.” _  
_

With a tired little laugh, Stiles answers, “Not always. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this or not but not all of us think you’re like some porcupine. I know for a fact that underneath this prickly exterior lies a filling made purely of smores and awesomeness.”  
  


Derek laughs again, this time in a clearly amused huff before he finally,  _finally_ looks up at Stiles with a weak smile. “Smores? Really?”  
  


It takes everything he has in him to not grin until his face breaks and it’s a near miss for Stiles. “Would you rather I said cotton candy?” If his voice trembles then it’s because his throat is scratchy and in need of water.  _Not_ because he’s  _seriously_ overwhelmed right now.  
  


"Smores is better." Derek concedes, finally uncrossing his arms. Stiles’ tired hand drags down until it knocks against Derek’s hand and wonder of wonders, the older man picks it up in a gentle hold that makes Stiles’ knees weak. Or maybe that happens because of the hopeful feeling that’s sweeping through him.  
  


Stiles feels light as a feather when Derek squeezes his hand, still smiling at him. “Does this… mean that you forgive me?” He asks, eyes wide behind his glasses.  
  


There’s that familiar almost smile twitch that Stiles has wanted to grab and pull into a full out grin. “This is me giving you a second chance.” Derek answers, swallowing noisily before his voice drops. “Give me some time and I will forgive you. Just don’t…”  
  


The way Derek closes his eyes and shakes his head says it all. Stiles hurriedly nods, squeezing Derek’s fingers back as hard as he can. “I won’t betray your trust again.” He says in the same quiet tone, feeling happier than he had in …  _months_.   
  


Derek hums quietly, raising his free hand up to pet Stiles’ hair so gently that Stiles wants to cry. He closes his eyes and leans into the soft touches, murmuring senselessly as the palm drags down to cup his cheek and pull him in for a chaste, dry kiss.  
  


This, Stiles thinks dizzily in that moment, must be what drinking Butterbeer must feel like. There’s heat blooming in his chest like a flower, unfurling petal by petal until it’s fully blossomed. His  _toes_ curl inside his sneakers as Derek presses in hard for a quick second before pulling away.  __  
  
  


Feeling like he’s drunk, Stiles blinks at Derek. It’s just the one kiss that they’re had but his lips already feel like they’re swelling and reddening. He wants more, so much more. Stiles is already leaning in to get it when he hears Finnstock yell from outside, “Where the hell is Hale?! He was supposed to bring me the Herman report 20 minutes ago!”  
  


"Crap!" Derek curses, straightening up so fast his nose bumps into Stiles’ glasses. Stiles makes a quick grab for them, yelping as their ankles get tangled together and they fall down to the floor in a pile of limbs.  
  


The thud and curses that follow were apparently loud enough to get Finnstock’s attention because he’s standing in the doorway by the time they’re on their feet. “Hale!” The man snaps, “The Herman report?”  
  


"I’ll go get it." Derek replies stiffly, waiting a beat as he clearly waits for Finnstock to move. But when it’s clear that Finnstock won’t budge, Derek’s shoulders fall an inch and he turns to Stiles.  
  


He presses a quick kiss to Stiles’ cheek, voice a low murmur as he asks, “Dinner tonight after work?” Stiles nods, feeling his brain cells  _die_ at the grin Derek directs his way. “See you then.” The man says before walking away.  
  


Stiles stares and stares some more at Derek’s receding back. There’s an electric buzz under his skin that grows and grows until he wants to throw his arms up and yell in triumph.   
  


But the sound of Finnstock’s unamused, “Oh great.  _More_ office romance. Like Reyes and Boyd and Martin and Jackson weren’t bad enough. All that’s left is for McCall to get his wife to join this company and we might as well change our name to ‘That Couples Company’.” kills all of Stiles’ desire to yell with delight.  
  


He blusters some terrible excuse and beats a hasty retreat, turning red as Finnstock yells at his back, “Don’t you _dare_ sneak up here and drags Hale away for sex, Stilinski! You hear me! I don’t wanna walk in on your two having sex on this floor!  _Or any floor_!”  
  


Stiles can only frantically smack the elevator button repeatedly and pray either for a swift deliverance or the elevator to show the fuck up already. 


End file.
